


Grave Silences.

by Ashley2011, I_Shouldnt_Be_Here



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Playlist, Poetry, Purple Prose, Questioning Reality, Romantic Angst, allusions to drowning, collaborative writing, gets a little dark, mildly morbid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley2011/pseuds/Ashley2011, https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here/pseuds/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here
Summary: This is a story following the aftermath of Kartik and Aman's return from Allahabad: anticipated events and their unforeseen consequences."Hide me in your arms, please. For now, I don't want to see anything except for the comfortable darkness between your chest and elbows."
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 46
Kudos: 41





	1. Crashing.

**Author's Note:**

> For @smzs_fanfics_fanpage, here's hoping you are rescued from a "dry spell" ;)

* * *

A sense of mourning pervades the air. Mist hangs like an impenetrable blanket over the flowing Ganga. But something else catches Aman’s attention.

There is a crowd by the river bank. He cannot see properly, his glasses keep fogging up. He takes a step in that direction, but his foot gets tangled in something. He looks down. A tattered piece of cloth, a bright thing in an otherwise grey world. He picks it up. It is painted with three wide stripes in green blue and violet that looked horrifically _familiar_. He turns it over in his hands. A torn pride flag.

It is speckled with dried blood. The careless droplets appear _black_ against the green stripe.

He drops it in horror. 

There is a crowd by the river bank. He picks up speed. Doesn’t make it far. He trips over a wooden stick. As it rolls away, he notices it painted in blood. He kicks it out of the way. His vision is blurring. He cannot think. 

There is a crowd by the river bank. It has grown in size. There are hushed murmurings and snippets of conversation. Aman does not care about any of that. He needs to _see_. 

He walks towards the thick of the crowd. The weighted smells of earth are his temperamental guide, often turning him this way and that, away from elbows and shins that seemed independent of the rest of the body. During this whole ordeal, he catches sight of familiar faces in the crowd but they remain permanently twisted in a rictus of repulsion. 

In the crowd, he catches glimpses of two fathers, 'scientist' and 'blacksmith' both, their faces warped with terrifying grins carved into their faces. The death-smell guide is just revealing its final destination, one which was far more terrifying than those faces. 

  
  


There is a crowd by the river bank. He makes it to the front of the gathering. There is a depressed pit in the soft mud. Tidal water seeps into it as the people watch in morbid fascination. Dread fills Aman as he steps forward. No one stops him. 

Aman looks down. His feet turn to jelly and his knees sink into the muddy brown riverbank. His knees graze on the pebbles, leaving him with a burning sting and leaving the dirty mud bank with a dirtier bloodstain. He blinks furiously, wishing he could unsee-

-the glint of a silver ring, a glimpse of a triangle tattoo, a pair of bent out of shape spectacles, a scrap of yellow and blue candy-striped fabric dirtied with mud, dried blood on bluing skin-

Two bodies lie intertwined. Faces hidden from prying eyes. Fingers clasped tight. Mirroring each other, even in death. 

_Aman cannot breathe._

First, he sees him. _Aman’s Kartik._ Posture relaxed as if he were merely sleeping. 

Then, he sees himself. _Kartik’s Aman_. Unblemished otherwise, but nevertheless touched by death.

Their brown and biscuit faces, earlier full of rich golden yellow and pink undertones, are now whitewashed with the grey pallor of death. Their lips are content and eyes covered with heavy eyelids as if they would crack open the next instant showing alive brown eyes instead of cloudy, gelatinous, _unseeing_ orbs.

Aman cannot comprehend anything more before a scream claws out from his throat. 

He remembers _everything_. The biting cold of the water, the curses screamed from desperate lips soon turning to mumbled pleas, the current of an unforgiving river, a lover lifeless in his arms, the taste and texture of mud, his limbs growing heavy, his vision darkening, the burning sensation in his windpipe, one last kiss before his lungs filled up-

_Aman cannot breathe. The air inside his lungs is solid and heavy as lead._

There is a crowd by the river bank. They do not react to his lamentations. They do not hear him scream. They do not see him. Because Aman is not there. 

He was never there in the first place. He has been dead for some time. 

He sees himself in the deep and narrow grave. His face rests over his lover’s silent heart. His head is cradled protectively, from a world that has already put them to eternal sleep. The tide rises. The water trickles; then rushes into their resting place. He cannot look away. His lover’s name gets stuck in his throat. He drowns all over again. With every shallow breath, the dense smell of mud feels like a shovelful of earth over his lungs, like black-dressed men tossing spadefuls of earth over a grave. He would have broken apart his ribcage if he could, only to give that much vital space for his lungs to _breathe._

There is a crowd by the river bank. This is not a gathering. This is a burial. A heavy pall of silence spread over the crowd, with the bodies of the two lovers as the epicentre. 

It is almost peaceful. If only the oppressive smell of death can leave him alone for a second. 

Pairs of lips mutter around him in familiar patterns, afraid to break the silence, yet echoing the judgements and prejudices ingrained deeply into the minds supplying those words.

_Aman still cannot breathe. Quite a feat it would be, for a dead man walking._

The earth and water in Aman’s lungs create a sticky mess, which makes it even harder to breathe. He is suffocating in the smells of death and despair, but nevertheless puts up a fight. He draws an enormous gulp of _air,_ the precious third element. 

A dying man’s last gasp…

_(A dead man’s last gasp...)_

The stubbornly opaque earth draws a black curtain over his dying eyes.

* * *


	2. Ebbing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aman is tired, so damn tired of swimming through the murky river water alone.  
> The dark green bank is so far, but he realises he wouldn’t have to swim by himself as long as Kartik is there by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> without further ado, let us get back where we left off.

* * *

_The earth and water in Aman’s lungs create a sticky mess, which makes it even harder to breathe. He is suffocating in the smells of death and despair, but nevertheless puts up a fight. He draws an enormous gulp of air, the precious third element._

_A dying man’s last gasp..._

_(A dead man’s last gasp…)_

_The stubbornly opaque earth draws a black curtain over his dying eyes._

* * *

Aman is brought back to awareness with a huge gasp. 

He had thought that his body parts were long dead. He had _felt_ them dying. He had _felt_ his senses shutting down permanently. But what he is being subjected to right now is even worse. 

Each part (a foot, a shoulder, an eyeball, a forehead with deep worry lines) is dragged back to life-not smoothly, but with violent, crazed jerks like a Frankenstein’s monster coming to life which was constructed with fragments of the worst parts of both his nightmares _and_ reality.

The nightmarish-water in his lungs get forcefully displaced with air. His eyes weep thick, salty tears. This creates a translucent, watery film over his vision which makes him feel like he never left the murky depths of the river at all. 

He blinks rapidly, trying to calm a heart that seems to be adamant in beating right out of his chest-he can feel the pounding of his heart in his ears. His chest trembles with every inhalation, and he is momentarily relieved to find that he can, in fact, breathe.

_(But why was he sure he wouldn't be able to?)_

This time when he opens his eyes properly, he is faced with a wall of defined muscle, a greyish, (in)human torso. He becomes aware of being locked in a loose embrace. But instead of peace, a sense of dread and panic floods his veins. An artery in his forehead throbs wildly. He lifts his chin up, almost afraid of what he might see. 

His heart malfunctions again. Only this time, he is sure it has stopped altogether.

The shadows playing over his lover’s face and body lends a deathly pallor to them. Aman’s eyes widen and lips part in horror. The arms encircled around him are cold to the touch, almost like a corpse.

_(two bodies intertwined-posture relaxed-he were merely sleeping- lover’s silent heart-lips content-eyes covered with heavy eyelid_ s-)

Aman clamps his eyes shut. The action squeezes a tear out of the corner of his eye.

Wherever he is, he is still stuck, and probably dead too. That would possibly explain why Aman _cannot breathe_. 

Agitated, Aman curls his toes. He feels something around his feet. He jerks his legs about aggressively, trying to escape from the deathly, tangled embrace of the black, ribbon like weeds growing in the riverbed-

Not weeds, no. Just a plain white bedsheet. Nevertheless, he tries to kick the sheet away, lest it morphs into a death shroud; but during this brief struggle, his foot hits something hard. A flash of pain shoots up his ankle.

Bile rises up his gut. Something seems to be building up in the deep recesses of his being, trying to crawl out of his throat. He can feel his intestines bundling up in a wiry knot in the centre of his stomach. He can still feel the slimy, skeletal hands of the weeds around his shins. He tries to quell it, instead tries to rouse Kar-

_(His lover’s name gets stuck in his throat-)_

He screams. 

There is a jolt, a startled exclamation. He is almost thrown off balance by the movement. 

In the ensuing chaos, Aman feels his mind and body both shutting down. There is only so much the psyche can take. He clutches his temples tightly, almost wishing he could crush the skull and brain between his two hands to smithereens just so he can escape from this horror.

But strangely, amidst the shock of his mind betraying him, he finds that he can breathe again. So he chooses to focus on just that. 

Expand, contract. In, out.

There is simply not enough air in the atmosphere to soothe the burning in his chest, to drive out the phantom mud clogging his windpipe. He gulps in mouthfuls of air when breathing through his nose feels inadequate.

He agonises over the sharp arrows of pain around his left ankle with each frantic gulp, like a fish out of water. Those spikes of pain ground him, chaining the dark spirals of his mind forcefully.

Expand, contract. In, out. 

Still, it is not enough. The vicious creatures of doubt, despair and anguish howl like mad wolves against the restraints of pain and vigorous breathing. 

......

He cannot move. He cannot run. He is immobilised.

He sees glimpses of watery, fluid shadows projecting on the ceiling due to the night’s heavy rains and the city’s constant fluorescent lighting. He shivers yet again due to the eerie similarity. 

He had expected to wake up amidst the chattering, comforting din of his Allahabad home. It had been an Allahabad nightmare after all. But the rushing sounds of rain, the whirring of an old ceiling fan and the absence of human chatter tell him this is _Delhi_. 

During his flailing episode, he feels a gentle yet firm touch of a pair of _solid_ , warm arms- the only things that feel like they wouldn’t disappear into the air like some ghostly ether. Those arms are far preferable to the shooting pain in his ankle. He makes a gamble and decides to risk entrusting himself to those arms.

He feels _warmth._ He feels _familiarity._ He feels _calm._ Aman knows he can’t trust his mind to come up with words yet, but he figures he can trust his body at least, which is making him feel these comforting sensations. Hands-calloused yet soft-loosen the grip Aman has on his own head, protecting him from harming himself. Fingers brush his nape, the space behind his ear, making warmth slowly seep into every crevice of his body.

Each of those sensations come together gradually like pieces of a forgotten jigsaw puzzle. Aman wanders timidly into the annals of his (still struggling) mind, and now _knows_ that those feelings have a cohesive name.

**_Kartik._ **

He breathes out the name in an exhale. The arms around him tighten in response.

He tries to focus on the obvious, tethering though he is on the brink of two planes.

He is alive. Kartik is alive. They are both alive. His closed eyes feel an animate, soft yet hard embrace encasing, expanding and collapsing just a little with each one of Kartik’s breaths. These repetitive, mechanical movements reassure him of the _realness_ of it until a wave of doubt crashes over Aman yet again. 

And with doubt comes fear. He flounders for markers of reality and finds none. His senses may be deceiving him for all he knows. He does not want to open his eyes to see the pallor of death on Kartik’s face. He neither wants to be distracted by the murmurings in his ear. Even smell and touch can mislead, making him live in denial. His confusion knows no bounds. His mind had believed Kartik was already dead when (Clearly? Could he believe even that much?) he is breathing right beside him.

  
......  
  
  


Kartik is equally disoriented. He does not remember waking up and gathering Aman in his arms. He had suddenly found himself wrapped around Aman, his body tracing the paths of long-established patterns mindlessly, as if on auto-pilot. And now-

He hears a soft, snivelling whimper. And another part clicks into place, much before his sleep-addled brain can compute the whole situation.

Aman is trapped in a bad nightmare. Aman clutches his arms tightly, almost painfully, further proving the accuracy of Kartik’s split-second observation of the current scenario. Aman’s skin looks unusually sallow. Kartik pries the white-knuckled hands off his arms gently and braids the fingers in his own.

Those hands, Kartik notices, tremble uncontrollably. Often trembling, fluttering movements signify signs of life, like a beating heart, but _this_ felt like the life was leeching out of Aman, one violent tremor at a time.

......

Assurances are murmured in Aman’s ear, but he is unable to comprehend any of it. Those husky, throaty affirmations feel too much like the whispers of a wayward ghost. Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. Sounds can be deceiving- he cannot trust it, not now.

Aman is walking a tightrope which he may fall from any moment. And it is never the falling that hurts, it’s always the _landing_. 

He tries to ground himself. Casts his conscience out into this reality. Takes notes of the little details. How the quiet of their shared space is being disrupted by the sound of his ragged breaths and broken whimpers now and then, how he is locked tight in an embrace, how he knows the world outside his closed eyelids is dark, how the sourness of the bile combines with a tang of metal in his dry mouth (caused due to having bitten his tongue, drawing blood), how his withered throat feels like sandpaper rubbing against a fresh wound. But this is as far as his senses will go. 

It almost appears real, the feeling of his chest about to cave in. So the rest of it must be too. Without permission, his chapped lips start to move on their own accord, the sounds uttered from his throat crackling like tinder. He spews out all that he saw, all that he witnessed, all that felt _so damn real_ -

Aman succumbs to the ocean of madness, crashing through the waves of insanity.

Going under. Breaking the surface. Going under again. Drowning. Repeat.

His mouth fills with the salty foam of those waves. He lets the darkness engulf him. 

All of that happens again, and yet again without a break. Even criminals are allowed breaks when they are beaten up by other criminals, but Aman finds no respite. 

After what seems like a lifetime, amidst the tumultuous tsunami his mind is trapped in, a lilting melody reaches his ear. It breaks through like a bright flash of lightning in his dark-grey nightmare skies. 

It is a melody he cannot put a name or language to. 

The roaring in his ears, the echoes of his nightmares slowly fade, making a place for Kartik’s voice to seep in.

Aman holds on. Tries to concentrate. He will not succumb, not now. Kartik’s voice, hoarse from sleep, helps him latch on to his last threads of sanity. The simple repeating bars of the lullaby act as a safe harbour from the devastating storm raging in his head. 

The melody had been born on Kartik’s lips before he knew what the words were. His voice skips hesitantly over the Punjabi words, and the notes harmonise like a delicate, quivering house of cards built over a gravel road.

Kartik rocks him gently. Massages the knots in his tensed back. Lightly cards his fingers through Aman’s sweat-drenched hair. All while continuing to sing.

Aman inhales. His nose is blocked due to so much crying, but he nevertheless detects the smell of laundry detergent, a hint of aftershave, a whiff of lavender soap. Aman breathes in deep again, each breath getting easier to take. This time he registers a few more-cinnamon, leather, oxidised metal-the unique scents that together make up Kartik.

All the more proof that this is real. 

His drifting mind finds an anchor. His erratic heartbeat slows to a calmer rhythm. 

The melody effectively acts as a balm to his soul.

Awareness dawns upon him in increments as the rest of his senses come back gradually. Sometime during this ordeal, his hands had migrated to gripping Kartik’s undershirt tightly. He slowly unclenches his fists. He is about to let go, but one of Kartik’s hands cradles his own, very gently. Saying without words, _you don’t have to let go_. Kartik shifts, bringing his mouth close to Aman’s ear. He doesn’t sing the words, rather hums the familiar tune. Smooth, slow, melodic. Almost nostalgic.

Aman doesn’t let go.

The notes climb, sweep, glide and skip with a nonchalance like children in sandboxes. Almost careless, regarding the current situation. Aman follows each note, his mind feeling around the edges of the melody tentatively.

He thinks only Kartik can make melodies sound hesitant and effortless at the same time. 

He listens as Kartik’s voice transitions to the song’s refrain.

Aman’s hands tremble from keeping them clenched for so long. He hesitantly moves his fingers along Kartik’s wrist, feeling his pulse- _just to be sure_ -feeling the life in him thrum and thrive. Kartik misses a lyric for a second but recovers quickly. He takes one of Aman’s hands and intertwines their fingers, bringing their joined hands to his chest. Aman tries to figure out the significance of this action, but his battered mind is so _so tired_ -

Kartik fingers move on their own accord along with the rhythm of the song, as he taps out with the rhythm, like Aman’s gooseflesh covered arm is his piano to play on. The gentle tapping creates shallow dimples on his skin, the repetition helping Aman concentrate on that patch of his skin, almost synchronising with the patter of rain hitting the windowpane.

The music flows deep in his veins now. He cannot hope to replicate it, but now it feels like a part of him like it is inadvertently a part of Kartik. 

The song, the lullaby, the melody is born anew, as Aman finds solace in the darkness of their shared space- a darkness of the safe kind.

The love of his life is singing to him.

Aman’s eyes flutter open just as the last words leave Kartik’s lips. Both of them see the other covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. 

Kartik wipes the sweat off Aman’s forehead and rests his hand on Aman’s hot, feverish cheek, the inside of which was bitten raw. He looks into Aman’s eyes, almost black in the sparse light, and a silent understanding passes between them. _Aman had just woken up from a nightmare._

Kartik knows from his own hazy recollections of countless childhood nightmares that the plot is often lost forever, just after waking up. He knows the deep-seated horror and confusion intimately. He sees Aman’s trembling lips and eyes widening just a little bit with residual terror. He needs a distraction. 

He continues singing.

......

Aman's chest fills with warmth as he rests his forehead on Kartik’s shoulders. Slowly, Kartik coaxes the song out of its words yet again until only the bare-boned melody leaves his lips. When he does, Aman momentarily lifts his head, as if to watch him form the shape of the lyrics, making it his own. 

Kartik smooths over a transition from the chorus, and in the meantime chooses to focus on Aman’s mindless mumbling, which is yet to cease. Kartik looks at those restless lips, then back at his eyes. With a tilted head and a gently raised eyebrow, he invites him to sing along with him. Aman looks at him for a second, his eyes widening for a reason other than fear. It is _confusion._ Aman lets that invitation flail between both pairs of their watery eyes for a brief second.

Kartik continues singing.

Aman burrows back into Kartik’s shoulder, feeling bashful. He blinks, eyes now saturated with tears, and lets out a loud sniff. 

Meanwhile, the same melody echoes scratchily in Aman’s larynx. His lips do not move, but he follows Kartik’s lead. 

(As he usually does).

It provides a welcome distraction. The image of him and Kartik drowning still hammers against his skull, but now with reduced intensity. The terror, which until now had clutched Aman like a mouse between the talons of an eagle, gently ebbs away. A tired smile blooms in the corner of Kartik’s mouth as he feels their shared point of bodily contact vibrate with Aman’s humming.

The tune of a bygone era holds each of their scared hands and gives them both the end of a mother’s saree to hide their tired, weary faces in. Aman feels like a six-year-old boy again, while Kartik tries to remember that feeling to the best of his ability. 

Kartik continues singing.

The tune leads them both down a gravel road, one that is familiar to Kartik. Aman thinks that it holds a strange familiarity for him too. He knows, this road has been trodden upon by his lover many times, during bouts of helplessness and spells of sadness. He knows that feeling is familiar because he is his lover. And by association, Kartik’s songs become his own.

His eyes find Kartik’s in the dark. _Hide me in your arms, please,_ _for now,_ Aman’s gaze seemed to say, _I don't want to see anything except for the comfortable darkness between your chest and elbows._

Kartik continues singing as he heeds to Aman’s silent request, bringing his arms around his smaller form. Arms that feel safe, like home.

An invisible mist that had been hanging like an impervious blanket on his mind starts to disperse.

On his cold-sweat skin, Aman feels _sunshine._

Even in the grey darkness of their bedroom. Even in the black darkness of Kartik’s embrace. Even in the spiralling depths of his own mind. 

There is always room for light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this has been quite a journey, a learning curve for both of us. we have never ventured into anything as dark as this, and we pushed ourselves (and each other) to limits with this one. hope you enjoyed our labour of love!
> 
> well, the story may have officially ended. but we have a surprise coming up! :D
> 
> just wait for tomorrow. till then, try and guess what melody Kartik had been singing,  
> and take care! :')


	3. Calamity-Serenity : A Bonus Chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aman and Kartik's journey in poetry, following their journey in prose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bonus chapter is here!!!! The first poem has been written by Ashley2011 and the second has been written by I_Shouldnt_Be_Here. 
> 
> (oh, and we have also added a playlist chronicling this journey)

* * *

* * *

**a lament of the drowned**

he remembers.

the current of an unforgiving river

water rushing, biting cold

struggling in vain, limbs flailed

ribbony reeds taking hold

shouted curses turning to pleas, soon

lifeless in his arms, a lover doomed. 

he remembers.

the texture of mud

limbs heavy, turning to lead

in his tongue, the taste of blood

eyes stinging, losing sight

one last look, before

he gives up the fight.

he remembers.

a burning, in each lung

windpipe crushing in protest

his death knoll, long since rung

insides chilled to the bone,

yet ravaged by fire,

darkness engulfing, light all gone

the need rising dire

for a last kiss goodbye

he remembers.

stuttering, the heart sped up fast

sinking, sinking to the river bed

two beats, then one,

until it is time for the last

finally left with none.

he remembers. 

they remember.

_everything_. 

they hope the world

remembers, and so would you

a lament of the drowned

.the lovers two

* * *

* * *

**Ancient Melodies in Darkness**

He was woken up

By his lover currently walking

The tightrope between ‘asleep’ and ‘awake’

Blindfolded.

He couldn’t decide

If the nightmarish shadows were scarier

Or the ghosts

Cartwheeling in his lover’s eyes.

Viscous tears washed over brown irises

Like a tide breaking

Over the Ganga’s sandbrown shore

Kartik died in Aman’s funeral-eyes.

He gathered Aman’s clammy body in his arms

Shallow breaths and cold sweat

Left hand-shaped prints on his chest.

Aman’s lips spat the mindless chatter of spirits long gone.

In another plane of existence

A sleep paralysis demon and a ghost

Had a misunderstood conversation

While Aman burrowed into

The comfortable darkness of Kartik’s arms.

Aman’s lips spoke of horrors

Inflicted upon lifeless bodies by nameless faces

Open, but light-less eyes

Were soothed by hopeful ones

Aman’s sorrows crashed upon Kartik’s shore.

Kartik laboriously gathered the strings

Of Aman’s mindborn cacophonies

While Aman took in Kartik’s smell

Cinnamon-metal fireworks in a leather sky.

A melody was born from hesitant lips.

An age-old lullaby born

From the watery depths of

Kartik’s (and his ancestors’) conscious

The melody settled comfortably

In the space between

Kartik’s chest and Aman’s elbows.

The melody said, “let me comfort you”

To the nightmare screams and nightmare ghosts

The lips singing that song

Were worried about his lover’s plight

The song gathered both of their tears

Gently, wiping them away.

The song was born once

And would be born again

And yet again

As long as troubled shoulders

Sought comfort from hesitant lips.

* * *

* * *

[Grave Silences Youtube Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpTO2cTdozvAMLL8eUjF44PjqasmFQ0NJ)

[Grave Silences Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1sd1JqfaxuqrDurq2tAKi7?si=ya_1Hg9gS-Of3gDrZRr_PQ)

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist in order, with Scene Description: 
> 
> 1\. Can't Help Falling in Love Cover [DARK VERSION] -Tommee Profitt (feat. brooke)  
> Aman by the riverbank, and the horrors that follow
> 
> 2\. How To Leave Your Body - John Murphy  
> Aman’s mind toeing the line between nightmare and reality
> 
> 3\. Kalga- aswekeepsearching  
> Kartik’s headspace as he tries to help Aman in the immediate aftermath of the nightmare
> 
> 4\. Chan Kitthan - Ayushmann Khurrana  
> The gentle lilting melody Kartik sings, to soothe Aman
> 
> 5\. Can't Help Falling in Love Cover [LIGHT VERSION] -Tommee Profitt (feat. brooke)  
> Aman (and Kartik, to some extent) coming to terms that light can be found even in the darkest of nights
> 
> ..............................
> 
> and thus we conclude our angst fest, which started as a simple discussion about how Aman and Kartik both must have been affected by the events of Allahabad. A few hours later, this concept was born.  
> we want to thank all the readers who were patient with this piece and (surprisingly) did not kill us. 
> 
> until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the darkness, we hope you enjoyed your stay!  
> So this is a collaboration between two cracked bong heads, a story born and brought up on Instagram DMs within the span of a few hours. :D (we are crazy, didn't we mention?! :P )  
> Please let us know what you thought of our new fic! As always, kudos and comments feed us ehehehe. ^_^


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